Alana
It never sneaks up on me. I always know when it is coming. I feel the weight of the day long before I live it. I don’t have to circle it on the calendar. I wait. I plan how I will do it better than last year. I consider where I will be and who will be around.
It’s always on a Sunday. Sunday is church and singing about my Lord Jesus and a sermon. It’s also about the flowers. Those white things that sit passively in the basket waiting to be placed on the blessed recipient. The flower that will announce their status and give them a title. I avoid the gaze of the flower giver. I avoid the prattling, gushing women and make my way in. Sometimes, I’ve been seen and someone rushes to give me one. I tell them I’m not a mother. If they don’t know me, they are seriously taken aback and retreat mumbling- oh, oh, okay. I even tried this one- No thanks, I don’t deserve a flower. Then it’s on for young and old- all the reasons they think I should have one. Over the years, I’ve heard them all. But you are a mother- you teach little children. But you’re a mother to so many young people. But you’ve been a mother to me. But you’re a spiritual mother to others. No, I am not a mother and I do not want a flower.
It’s also the morning tea afterwards with people talking about their lunch plans and family visiting. Sometimes I leave straight away. Sometimes I brave it and stay. Not sure why I think this is being brave because the hum of their conversations with their white flowers waving at me from their chest is like thunder drumming in my ears. Their voices and words are barely heard. It’s just noise. It’s loud and it’s all around me. It’s like a dark cloud coming down covering me. Some well-meaning person asks me how I am going today. Ha! Really? Bad move, lady. You really don’t want to hear my answer. My shirt is void of flower- leave it please.
Some years it falls on the anniversary of the day we were told by the doctor that we’d never be parents. Way back in 1996 we were making our way through a normal Friday on the 10th of May, not knowing that that day would be forever etched in our minds and hearts. That weekend we barely breathed. We told family and friends the awful news and then had to face that Sunday with solemn, teary faces. It’s like a double whammy when the 10th coincides with this day. It hits hard as people celebrate their fullness and we are reminded of our emptiness.
I have found it best for my well-being, for many of these 30 years, to avoid church on that day. It’s quite a relief and freeing for all the reasons above but it still sits tight in my chest as I navigate the day not going out for lunch because I could not possibly taste the food I paid for, with others beside me enjoying the “banquet” or “special menu” set for them. Sometimes my husband and I have stayed home and just kept our meals simple, watched some TV, not really acknowledging the elephant in the room, but making the day work for us.
I know it’s a day about honouring our mothers and we certainly do that. Sometimes we just call our mothers briefly. We check in on them, but we don’t prolong the conversation or the feelings. I know it’s not about me, but this day has a way of turning on you. It can become about you when others press into their motherhood and their children. Not having those same phone calls, cards and words of love spoken to you on the day when everyone else has them, is tough and confronting.
It would be so good if people didn’t think these particular days called for a general announcement. You can be greeted at the shops, service station or café with the famous phrase like they are saying- Merry Christmas! My husband has had to face those words too, on the first Sunday in September over the years and it’s not easy to stand up for yourself and remind the excited announcer that not all men are fathers. There is often no thought or care put into these words that are spoken to men and women alike.
The day is always long and when it’s over, it often takes a few days to feel like me again. I play music- 80’s music gets me moving and contemporary Christian music calms me. The messages that came on that day from those loved ones who care about us, are kind and understanding. I appreciate that they took the time to really see me. They don’t push flowers onto me. They know I don’t want, need or deserve the flower. The flowers are for them.
